The Game Room
In the back corner of the building
where we don't feel the furnace at our side
there is a room
with walls of white plywood and cleaning supplies
and a navy blue velvet ceiling
that sags above us like
the spangled tent of the sky
A world of folding chairs and ripped sofas
and one rickety table
one dog-eared corner held on with duct tape
one leg always afraid to touch
the floor carpeted in gray indoor-outdoor
and dirt and Pepsi bottles and God knows what
Where we fill the holes in the wall
with conversation, cover them with laughter
let the maps be drawn
let ourselves be drawn in
become someone else for an evening
And as our hours here slide into memory
and the ceiling lamp swings
like a star on its brass chain
I clasp the dice like planets in my palm
feel a chill beneath my skin
that has nothing to do with the furnace.
Copyright (c) 2000 by Beth Kinderman. This is my original work, so please respect it.
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